If you need the “full effect” just click the comic–and it ought to get bigger. Bear with me, once I find a better hosting venue, I hope it won’t be as much work for you.

In the meantime:

Since a lot of you guys are in the wonders/throes of calving today’s:  ”Headcatch”.  =)

I’m having WAY too much fun drawing Scout comics. It’s seriously ridiculous. I’ve got a sketchbook filled with about a gazillion different things that I think is funny that Scout, does, could do, or I imagine him doing.

The response has been nothing but great. Every one is very supportive, and I really feed off of that. The energy, the laughs, anything. It’s so positive, and a lot of fun.

Couple things though: I want to be able to feature “Headcatch” and post new ones without inundating subscribers mailboxes with Cowdog Blog spam. Any ideas?

Also…I realize my artistic ability has a way to go. Part of me drawing new comics every week is crafting that ability, and working on my skills.

You’re not going to be getting any Stan Lee type comic stuff in your inbox, but at the very least, rest assured: I’m working to improve my ability.

One thing that I see a lot of in agriculture blogs/news/tweets/Facebook pages is a lot of information. Information on how to better the place, better your crop rotation, grazing, blah, blah, blah.

I’m not “blah,blah,blah”ing the serious stuff that we all have, need, and want to know. I’m blah,blah,blahing the fact that despite my best intentions, I can’t be working the place 24 hours a day.

I’m not disparaging, or discrediting those sources of good, sound information. I’m just trying to find my niche in the Agriculture blogosphere, and provide a brief respite for you folks that are hard at it, and just want a break. Thus: Headcatch.

One of my ideas–and trust me–I’ve had a lot of shi$#y ideas, is that my comic purely focuses on rural folks way of life. I don’t want to lose touch with where I feel I belong, and where the vast majority of my audience comes from. Rural places. Ag folks. People that put their backs into their work, that’s how they feed their families’, and a lot of other folks’ families as well.

Perhaps that got a bit mission statement like–but–that’s at the root of the ideas I have, and the desire I have to improve my drawing skills, and the jokes I come up with.

This is a very fledgling endeavor, and I’m happy to have you folks along for the ride.

Do me a favor. Email. Tweet. Comment. Tell me what sucks. Tell me what works.

My ultimate goal is to have a “Headcatch” comic taped to someone’s shop wall.

Then–I’ll know I’ve made it with the Ag crowd.

Thanks.

A good three weeks of scribbling, erasing, more erasing, lots more erasing–I think I have something I’m ready to show the world…

Clearly…I’m not going to win any art awards.

But–and this applies to more than just art: Take your Mother-In-Law’s advice.

As an accomplished artist, she was more than gracious during the In-Law’s recent visit to Hawaii. She answered my questions,  looked at my sketchbooks, and offered some really good advice.

You should probably check out her art here–because once you see mine–you cannot unsee it.

One bit of her coaching, was that at some point you just have to stop tinkering, and let it go.

So…here goes.

Another life lesson: Listen to your wife. This was her favorite comic so far…so it got the most work.

Without further ado, I present to you:

“Headcatch” The Adventures of Ty and Scout, comic edition.

I can’t really predict when, and how this burst of energy comes from, but I do know that I’ve rarely capitalized, or really, really worked at it.

Without sounding too much like a New Year’s resolution–which is all the rage this century–but I’m rather sick of “playing around” with these outbursts.

It’s time to get serious about what it is I think I ought to be doing.

As a kid, I was constantly drawing, making up stories, building things that didn’t exist with Legos, and as my wife can attest to: live(d) in somewhat of a made-up universe.

Stuffed animals became alive, I gave them voices and back stories, and made my brother laugh by talking to him for hours as my characters.

In college, I took a smattering of Creative Writing courses, and was greatly encouraged by a professor I really respected, and liked. He was pretty supportive, and at times downright flattering regarding some of the things I had written for class.

Not to get too crazy with the self-awesome Fest, but this has been going on since Junior High. I’m not entirely sure at what point I decided I would be the next Great American Novelist–but I was pretty sure that was what was going to happen.

Fast forward to now: I’m older. I have nieces and a nephew. I have a lot of pages of things I’ve written that I keep moving from place to place that aren’t good enough, nor am I dedicated enough to bring them into the light of day.

All the flattery, and “talent” of those writings are all well and good–but what’s missing is my passion for it. Sure, I like to write creatively, and seriously–but it’s not really my thing. I may be good at it–but I don’t love it.

Recently, I was told by my doctor, a physical therapist, and most importantly my body: That something is a bit amiss. I’m dealing with a rather significant injury to my neck–and despite my best intentions, and wishes to return to my physical work, the crux of the matter is: If I continue to do it, I can expect the rest of my life to be uncomfortable, possibly in pain, and possibly permanently altered enough to the point that any kind of riding, or strenuous physical work would be pretty difficult.

Not cool.

I have every desire in the World to return to the ranch someday (after the GREAT HAWAII EXTRAVAGANZA ADVENTURE is over, of course) and be a contributing member. I want to ride, work cattle, build fence, and undertake whatever crazed project the Father-in-Law has come up with. I love that stuff. So, right now it doesn’t make a lot of sense to keep pushing, and possibly be nothing more than a head set upon a pretty banged up body.

I need to do something.

I’ve been drawing again–something I used to do constantly. I was never any good at it–but I loved to do it. It gave me something to look at for the characters and worlds that lived in my head. It gave me faces to the voices I came up with. (Yep, voices in my head. I just wrote that).

I’m absolutely blessed to have family and friends with young children. Children that are right in my wheel house as far as fun, and creativity. Playing with them, listening to them–it’s fascinating to watch them, and imagine myself as a kid engaged in their adventures.

The imagination is a fascinating thing–and as we grow up–and go to school, apply for colleges, have to pay bills, be responsible to a spouse, our jobs–the imagination gets pushed back. It’s less of a companion, and more of an annoyance, because when you’re supposed to be doing something with your life–you’re sometimes flying on a dragon, or talking to your pet wombat, or riding a dog.

In light of the terrible events in Newtown, CT I was furiously texting with a friend. Her husband is a military fella, and the kind of guy that is doing something with his life. Sacrificing family time to be a part of the greater good. A guy that I like to watch football with, have a beer, and respect the hell out of.

During our texting–I was frustrated and brainstorming–I was aghast at the victimization of the kids, their parents, and families. It made me mad that I am doing nothing to help “save” kids, or defend them. I was ready to sign up that day, join a police force. Doing something adult, tangible, and serious…

It’d be a significant life change, and one that isn’t necessarily in the plans my Bride and I have set out for ourselves. It was reactionary, emotionally charged, and frankly: unrealistic.

How can I be helpful to kids? Not just the real important ones in my life–but kids I don’t know, never will know, but could reach out to? Let them know that the World isn’t always a scary, evil, horrible place?

I’m not sure I have the answer figured out yet–but maybe some of the characters that have lived in my head for years is a good way to tell them. Maybe if they can lose themselves in my worlds, my stories, their imaginations will be sparked and they will have the ability to fallback on it as adults.

Now that–is something I could grow to love.

A lot of raw feelings, opinions, and reactions happened as the in-your-face news cycle continued to give information on the events.

I’m writing for a couple of reasons today:

One: I haven’t written anything of reasonable substance in a long time, and I need to get back to it.

Two: Writing to me, is cathartic and helps me sort out how I feel about something–even if I haven’t learned how I do actually feel about it when I start.

Children dying is awful, evil, gut-wrenching, and unspeakable. The police officers, EMS personnel, medical examiner staff, and just about anyone else on scene are going to have to watch each other carefully as I am positive there will be difficult days ahead for them. I cannot imagine having to take that scene in and still do your job.

No amount of prayer, what-ifs, and wishing are going to change the fact that those children, teachers, and the mother of the shooter are dead–and their parents and families are forever changed by what happened last Friday.

There will be a lot more hours of delving into the past of the shooter, and “He was a quiet/loud, nice/evil, social/introverted kid” interviews from the folks that knew him prior to his decision to forcibly enter a school, and murder a class room full of children that could not possibly comprehend why this was happening.

Talking Heads will continue to use their names, fame, and “expert” analysis in whatever field the producers deem them expert in to tell us their opinions, and tell us their interpretation of the hows and whys of what happened.

What none of these Talking Heads will have is an answer, because–I think–there isn’t one. There is no one answer to this event.

The reality of it is a person whose mental, emotional, and social faculties were so broken, so twisted that the decision was made to walk into a school with 3 firearms, and deliberately fire those weapons at anyone who was there.

Predictably: the gun debate is back in the forefront of an exhausting, and never ceasing political arena. Folks from both sides of the argument are vehemently asserting their views. A senator from California is now working on a bill that would become an assault weapon ban, a school district in Texas is now considering letting teachers carry firearms.

The debate rages on.

Again, writing to me is a form of thinking aloud–or on a page as it were–and sorting out how I think and feel about these types of things. I don’t know where I stand today on either issue–but I do know that my thinking has begun to change.

As an amateur historian, I do try and interpret history “correctly”. Meaning: viewing historical events within their context, and trying to limit my personal feelings as I learn. Application of critical thinking, and opinion pieces are obviously acceptable–once one has learned and understands the historical event within its context.

One of the things I learned from a particularly excellent professor I had, is that when studying history–it is easy to place our current thinking, social mores, and sensibilities on groups of historical people, individuals, and events as if they happened in the very recent past, instead of thousands, hundreds, or even tens of years ago.

An oft cited example is one of our country’s forefathers: Thomas Jefferson. In any historical context Jefferson would be seen as a genius. A speaker of 5 languages, learned in diverse disciplines–such as architecture and religion–and the principal author of the Declaration of Independence: Jefferson is regarded in our country’s history as a great man.

Yet–viewed through our modern lens Jefferson can be reduced to a philandering, racist, slave-owner.

Is it possible he was both a great man whose ideas helped shape our great Nation, and a vile hypocritical politician who’s public persona differed drastically from his personal that filled his pocketbook?

Admittedly: Jefferson is not one of my historical interests, and what I do know about him has come from peripheral sources of the time, and a documentary here and there. What I do know is it is easy to paint him with a broad brush as either great, or evil depending on what contemporary set of values I want to dip my brush in.

Interpretation is easy to do when we’re unable to speak with the persons who left the historical record. Such is the case with the 2nd Amendment of the Constitution.

Amendment II

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Let’s break this down piece by piece: “A well regulated Militia”. Important at the time. The Militias were groups of citizens who defied the King, his agents, and were the backbone of what would become Washington’s Continental Army.

If you were a member of these Militias, you would be a normal citizen fighting for what you perceived to be wrongs by the Crown, and dedicated to defending your family, home, and lands. These Militias were seen as necessary to the fledgling countries’ security. Reasonable stuff.

If you were a foot solider in the British army–you were most likely from the lowest social order in England, you were deployed overseas to defend your country from rebels whom have broken the laws of your land, and fighting an insurgent force that did not “play by the rules” and used guerilla tactics contrary to any training you had received, and that is if you had received it.

Bit different depending on your lens, isn’t it?

And: The “Big One”. With no scientific study, fact, or otherwise–I’m still pretty comfortable stating that this is probably the most often quoted and used portion of the Bill of Rights:

the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

At the time of the writing–newly independent Americans were armed with muskets. Typically a flintlock type weapon that fired one shot. It then required about one minute for a skilled shooter to reload. If fighting became close enough before a reload could occur, the musket could be (and often was) outfitted with a bayonet, and failing that become a large, heavy club. Pistols were also available, but were extremely inaccurate, and also required a long reload time.

If I were fighting with those weapons, in the event of a home invasion: I’m going with the flintlock musket club. Seems like my best chance.

The primary weapon used in the school shooting in Newtown, CT was a Bushmaster .223 military style rifle. I do not think the forefathers would have been so quick to implement our right to bear arms had they had the foresight to imagine we could (relatively easily) purchase something like this.

Just checking their website I can purchase for $20.95 a 30 round magazine for this rifle. Seems that this is a bit extravagant for my “self-defense” needs.

Let me be perfectly clear: I own firearms. I believe in my right to defend my family, my home, and myself from harm should it come my way.

If this seems contradictory to what I am saying regarding the Bushmaster rifle, it probably is.

In a fictional home invasion I am probably sleeping. My shotgun is kept in my closet. My shotgun shells are kept in my nightstand.

My intent was to read a bit before bed, sleep, and get up and have a cup of coffee before starting my day.

My fictional intruder’s intent is to do God knows what to my wife, or me–and has the element of complete, and total surprise.

In my fictional home invasion I am absolutely unprepared to retrieve my shells, load my shotgun, and defend myself.

Would I be better off with a different weapon? Probably.

But–any weapon I possess may be taken from me and used against me, or my wife. I fear what would happen should I produce a weapon like that, and become incapacitated giving my intruder the gift of a legally purchased, owned, and loaded weapon.

I like my chances of screaming like a banshee, rushing them and jumping on their back, and clawing their eyes out in my underwear until they leave.

Then, I will assess who is injured, load my shotgun, and be prepared for the next event of my fictionalized home invasion.

Am I  stupid? Short-sighted? I don’t know.

Despite my belief that I have the right, and desire to defend my loved ones, my property, and my person from violence–with violence–am I prepared for it?

No. Absolutely not. I am a normal guy, in a normal life–and have yet to have to defend myself from what is becoming more and more, a very real Boogeyman.

I do know that I do not want to live in a state of constant fear, hyper-awareness, and vigilance because I fear the next whack job with a broken mind and a high capacity rifle.

There are whack jobs on both sides of this issue. Is getting rid of every gun in the country even possible? No. Will bad guys be able to get weapons? Yes.

Armed to the teeth, driving around in my tank, Glocks on both hips, and my Bushmaster in its tactical sling across my chest–what are my chances of being in the right place at the right time to stop something this horrific and evil?

Slim. To. None.

Do I trust my neighbors to have the same weapons and tanks as I do? Hell no. They have crazy kids.

Ban assault weapons. Do it. Ban high capacity magazines. Don’t tell me it isn’t for “assault” because it’s semi-automatic.

Any shooter knows your accuracy is GREATLY increased when firing semi-auto.

There is a difference between bearing arms, and being a mobile armory. Any weapon capable of puncturing a bullet proof vest should not be available to the general public for any reason. Let my “militia” (The Army, the National Guard, the SWAT teams) carry those kinds of weapons. They have the training, psychological hardiness, and physical ability to use, and control those kinds of weapons.

I do not, and I know it.

It’s why I’ll be the one screaming bloody murder and clubbing someone out of my house with a beat up old 870 shotgun.

In the mean time, I’m reviewing my own beliefs, and faith in humanity–and I want to share an incredibly honest, and forthright post from a fellow blogger: Carrie Mess.

Read her post here, and Stay safe.

Was probably just in a cruddy mood from a variety of things. Barn drama. Horse drama. Riding drama. Guest drama.

Everyone “hates drama” but thinks nothing of creating it when things don’t go their way, or inconveniences them.

Myself included.

Today I decompressed a bit by getting a coffee early. Bumming around a little town close to me, and getting a straight up barber haircut–complete with straight razor trim. Dan’s Barber Shop: I will be back. Awesome haircut.

Ever since the first person saw a horse, caught it, and climbed up on it to ride around–another person watched them–and said: You should do it this way.

And barn/riding drama was born.

What slays me about it is this: When exactly was the last time you knew everything there was possible to know about a subject?

My answer is never.

If I did indeed know everything about a certain topic, I would very quickly get bored with said topic, and move on to learning about something else.

Is is possible to be really, really, really knowledgeable and good at something? Of course. Does that mean you should cease learning about it?

Doubt it.

As with everything: There is inevitably always someone who is: smarter, faster, and better than you.

We should learn from these people–if nothing else to better ourselves at something we may very well be really, really good at.

Such is my case with horsemanship.

I consider myself pretty knowledgeable about our equine creatures. I can sit a saddle in just about every situation there is, get a job done, and ride just about every horse there is.

I feel pretty confident taking care of, and making sure our horses are comfortable, safe, and happy.

Now, staying on all of those horses is a different question. Never met a horse I can’t fall off.

The barn boss recently gave me the opportunity to have “my” guide horse.

Hollywood is a typical quarter horse. Big butt, big brain, and too tall for me. Give me my little Simon any day–but hey–play the cards you are dealt.

Now, I can ride Hollywood anywhere and do what I have to do.

It was how he was acting that made it more difficult. A relative of my lovely bride is a horse trainer. Uncle Tom has said in the past: You always have to ride ‘em.

Meaning: Just because you’re at a walk back to the trailer/barn/corral doesn’t mean to just sit there and turn off the brain.

Sure you can relax, but keep your mind and body alert enough to react to what your horse is doing. Or about to do. Or could do.

Enter the eating of Humble Pie.

I needed some help–someone who knows horses a helluva lot better than I do.

I’m very fortunate to have a Twitter friend that happens to fit this bill to a T. She’s a horse trainer, and someone who’s philosophy on horses I hadn’t spent a lot of time considering.

Now–don’t get me wrong. I’m not a person that enjoys putting a horse in various contraptions to make them do what I thought I wanted them to do–but in a lot of ways I didn’t know better.

Results? Sure. Optimum results? Far from it. Hollywood and I were fighting each other–instead of me taking the time to understand what the problem was–and correcting it in a less “cowboy” way, and a more from the horses point of view way.

It was a far cry from my little Push-Button Simon–and I figured I could use some of the same techniques I’ve used previously with Simon to get some desired results.

Unfortunately, Hollywood and Simon aren’t the same horse, and our relationship and jobs are very different as well.

I’ll make this relatively short–since I don’t want to enter in to a huge recap of what my Twitter Buddy has spent a lot of time explaining to me–but a critical key I was missing was:

If I ask Hollywood to stand still…why would I force him to do so when standing still is the easy thing, and what I really want?

It seems a bit convoluted to me still–and yes, to my mind a little hocus-pocusy, but so far it’s working.

As a guide, I need to be able to have a steady horse so I can be constantly eyeing up the dudes, cinches, lead ropes, dudes falling off, dudes dropping their reins, dudes being dudes.

I need a steady horse to conduct my never-ending dude surveillance.

Hollywood was not. He was fidgety, wanting to walk all over the place, and not stay still. My answer? Constant cues to keep him in place. Constant because he was so damn wiggly.

Here’s the hocus-pocus part: Let him walk around. In a circle. In a figure eight, circle the other way and stand still again.

Damned if after about 3 hours of this–he didn’t figure out that standing still was the easy part.

Maybe this is just basic horsemanship/horse training 101–but I’m not a trainer.

I’m a rider, learning to be a trainer–and under the tutelage of someone who knows a whole lot more than me–that’s just fine.

I’m pretty sure Hollywood is appreciating it as well.

1. The safety briefing I give you at the beginning of our session is for YOUR safety. I know how to ride. I know where we’re going. You don’t. Listen to me.

Horses are large, powerful, and fast animals. The 10 minutes I spend at the beginning of a ride is my way to quickly acclimate you to riding a horse. It does not mean I have every answer, nor can I control their behavior. If you’d like to ride a machine, we have ATV tours just down the way…bringing me to:

2. We ride to the lowest level of experience: Which 100% of the time is zero. It is well documented as you signed up, signed your release, and were briefed that this is a walking only tour. If your dream is to gallop across the pastures chasing cattle–then you should locate a dude ranch where you can pay people who then put you to work for them. It’s genius, really.

If nose to tail riding isn’t your thing. Don’t go. It’s what we’re going to do. Granted, a lot of you can’t even manage that as your horse is walking around in the weeds, on top of the horse in front of you, or you’re yanking their nose to the left when you mean right. Also: your boarded horse that you only ride in arena isn’t this horse. I don’t care how many years experience you have riding. This is my tour, my horse, and my job is to keep you–and everyone else on tour safe. Period.

3. You paid a good sum of money for this experience. My job is to keep you safe, tell you stories, correct annoying horse behaviors, give you a mini-riding lesson, take your picture, pick up your sunglasses, adjust your stirrups on the trail, find out where you are from, make sure my horses are sound, watch for unexpected dangers on the trail, take the safest route possible, and anticipate anything and everything that can happen. 

Multiply this by the number of people on tour.

4. I can correct your riding, horse behavior, your tack, and to degrees: your ability and comfort.

I cannot alter the weather. I cannot change your attitude. If you’re having a bad day–I hope by the end of the ride you aren’t anymore. If you’re dead set on having a bad time–you probably will.

5. MY horse is perfectly behaved, and if I’d just let guests ride it–they would have a lot better ride.

No. MY horse is a young, green horse that isn’t suitable or safe for people without experience. MY horse is a little shit that would get a lot of you hurt. MY horse will eat, bite, fight, and do overall HorseBattle™ with anyone and everyone. If I let him. MY horse is ridden by me because I can control it, correct it, and train it to be YOUR horse. YOUR horse is trained to do a job, and they do it well. They are sensible, sure-footed, and not prone to doing any of the aforementioned that MY horse has a propensity for.

6. The instructions you are giving me aren’t working. My horse still won’t do _________.

You’re doing it wrong.